Closer
by Zet Sway
Summary: It is a chance encounter one night in the city.  The motel room is dark, cold; almost shameful, in a way.  He feels like a frightened animal backed into a corner.  Leon/Ada.  Oneshot.


Author's Note: During the fall of 2010, I went through a massive depression. During that time I began to latch onto every new thing I could, because they seemed to help me rebuild my life. Everything old and familiar was uncomfortable and suffocating. One of the new things I latched onto was a band called Kings of Leon, and their music helped pull me through a tough time. The opening track on their album 'Only by the Night' is called 'Closer', and it's up there on my list of favorite songs of all time. I decided that I would take the emotion of that track and translate it into fanfiction. This is not a songfic, it's merely inspired by a song. I encourage everyone to youtube said song. It's pretty great.

For those of you wonderful readers who have read any of my other works, you can assume this event is an isolated incident, which has not occurred before or after any of the other events I have written. I would ideally like to arrange all of my works into a sequential orderly timeline in which things actually make _sense_, but I'm so damn scatterbrained that I don't think it's going to happen.

Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil, I do not claim to have created the characters used within this work of fiction. I do not own Kings of Leon, and I do not claim to have written the aforementioned song. I do not profit from the writing of this fiction.

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It is a chance encounter one night in the city. He has been in a bar all night with his friends and some buddies from work, but they have all gone home, and he has stayed for a bit, lost in thought. He is alone at the bar. There are few patrons remaining and the bartender is cleaning the bar with a damp towel. It's quiet. The remaining patrons chat softly to one another in the wake of the silence brought on by the vanishing crowd. A light haze of smoke drifts through the air as they enjoy their cigarettes.

He stares into his bourbon. He is drained and exhausted from his night out, and his fatigue has brought back many forced down memories of past hardships. He knows not what lies in his future, and the thought is suddenly frightening. What if he doesn't make it back from his next deployment? What if he is found by the bio-terrorists who want so badly to see him dead? Even the unlikely event of being killed in a training exercise is on his mind tonight. He sighs. There are so many dangers in his line of work, and he suddenly hates his job. And to think, all he had wanted to be when he was a boy was a police officer.

The door of the bar opens and someone steps inside. "Good evening, miss," the bartender says as she shakes the snow from her coat and takes a seat two stools away from Leon at the bar. He does not care enough to have a look at her.

She seems to take no notice of him. "Disarono on the rocks," she says, and the bartender moves to prepare her drink.

The new presence at the bar brings Leon back to reality, but not far from his worries. He wonders why she is here at this hour, alone. Maybe she hates her job too. Maybe her boyfriend just left her. She doesn't sound upset though. He realizes he isn't the only person in the world who has led a difficult life. Anyone could have a story to tell. But he is too self-absorbed to ask about hers.

The bartender hands her drink to her. She sips from it slowly and closes her eyes for a moment as she sighs. Her day finally begins to wind down. She says nothing.

Minutes pass, the two of them lost in thought. She folds her hands under her chin and looks around the bar, finally relaxed. It is then that she notices him. She takes a moment to make sure it is indeed him. He is sitting on a long black woolen coat and he seems to be lost in thought, but it's him. She is sure of it. She has never forgotten those features.

He looks like he's been working a mundane office job all day. He is wearing black slacks, dress shoes, and a white button down shirt that is partially unbuttoned at the top. He has a grey diamond-patterned tie hanging undone around his neck and his hair is slightly windblown. It's alien for her to see him dressed so. She assumes he's had a rough day based on how he's gazing deeply into his bourbon, as if trying to search for secrets within it. She wonders if she should say something. He does not seem to have noticed it's her. Either that or he has, and doesn't know what to say.

She gets up and moves to the stool next to him. He slowly takes a sip of his drink and looks up at her. His icy eyes read fatigue and slight boredom, but only for a moment. His tired form animates slightly at the sight of her.

"Hey handsome," is all she says to him. He knows not what to say. Ada Wong has appeared before him, late at night, in a bar, in bad weather. She looks just as fresh as ever, in business casual dress; she is wearing a black suit jacket and slacks over a red shirt. There is almost a slight twinkle in her eyes as she looks at him, and her lips curl in a smile. He wants to ask her what she is doing here but he cannot think of words.

"Hi," he says, tiredly. It's impossible that she's here. It really is. But she's here anyway, and he can't just walk away.

She begins to chat him up with non-personal conversation. It is almost as though they do not know one another. She lays a hand on his, which is rested by his drink. The look in her eyes reads desire, and he knows already what she has not asked. Without thinking, he stands and finishes his drink. He grabs his coat and swings it around, slipping his arms through the sleeves before reaching into his pocket and throwing a tip on the bar, more than enough for the two of them. He and the bartender nod at one another and he exits the bar with Ada.

It's cold outside and she takes a moment to slip on a pair of soft leather gloves. Her long coat has fur around the neck and cuffs, and she looks like a rich starlet as she struts with confidence down the sidewalk. He stuffs his bare hands in his pockets and bows his head to shield himself from the biting winter air as he follows her. They walk silently through the city for a few blocks, snow falling around them and icy cold biting at their cheeks. He sincerely wishes he would get over his masculine pride and buy a scarf.

Eventually they stop in front of a small motel on the outskirts of town. It's not too far from Leon's apartment, but he allows her to lead the way. She pulls a key out of her pocket and unlocks a door marked 105.

Until now he has been feeling pretty good, slightly buzzed from the evening. The sudden prospect of spending a night with Ada is irresistible, but he now realizes as he sobers that he leapt into the moment far too quickly. One night with the woman he has been silently in love with for years means everything to him, and nothing to her. He knows she feels something for him, but whether she feels love, lust, or mere infatuation is unknown to him. Even if she does love him, he knows they will never share a bond the way normal people do; a spy and a government agent, working for opposing forces.

He wants to love her so badly, to have and to hold her, to cook dinner for her and buy her flowers and take her out shopping, to the movies, to dinner… all of the things he has never quite had the chance to do with a girlfriend. He was only twenty-one when he had worked his first and only day as a police officer. He had been in relationships before that tragic day, but had never been within one thousand feet of anything he would describe as love. There had never been a woman he felt this way about before _her_. Every time he tries to tell himself he will stop thinking about her, she appears in his life again, like a phantom, haunting him in the shadows until his most vulnerable moments. And, like clockwork, here she is, holding the door of the shoddy motel room for him, ready to take advantage of his aching, tired, abused heart.

The motel room is dark, cold; almost shameful, in a way. The décor is neutral, two double beds with deep green bedding and beige laminate headboards share a beat-up looking nightstand, seemingly made from the same material. The room is lonely, and he feels like a frightened animal backed into a corner. His mind screams for him to go but he can do no such thing, she has him in her grasp.

They step inside and she closes the door behind them softly. He turns to face her. A sliver of light from drapes slightly parted illuminates her face and she flashes him a seductive smile as she slips off her gloves one by one, unbuttoning her jacket and tossing it on the chair by the window. She leans in to kiss him, backing him up until his legs touch the bed and removing his coat, letting it fall on mattress. He is uneasy, almost afraid of her as she gently pushes him down upon the bed and kisses him a moment more. She stands then, eyes locked with his, shedding her suit jacket, her arms arching gracefully as she grips the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head; she then steps out of her heels and slinks out of her slacks.

There is fear and desire in his eyes as he watches her disrobe. So many nights he has dreamed and fantasized about a moment like this, and now that it is happening, he wants nothing more than for her to walk away and vanish from his life again. He sits like a stone on the edge of the bed, taking soft, deep breaths to calm his nerves. He is no stranger to a woman's body, but this woman both intimidates him and fascinates him. He is a moth and she is a flickering flame, and he cannot bring himself to listen to the sense of reason within himself. She will hurt him if he allows her seduction to continue. She will hurt him and he will have no one but himself to blame.

She steps between his parted thighs. At this angle she stands taller than he. He places his hands on her hips and graces her chest with a kiss as he nervously slides her panties down her legs. Her hands gently stroke his honey blonde hair as he reaches up to unclip her bra, which she tosses into a dark corner of the room. She purrs her appreciation as he immediately begins to worship her soft breasts with his hands, lips, and tongue.

He is immediately intoxicated by the scent of her skin, a servant to her every wish and command, and as such he looks up into her eyes, as if to ask for his next task. She smiles and brushes a lock of hair from his face before she pushes him onto his back and drags her hand quite deliberately over the bulge in his jeans. A small gasp escapes his lips and he closes his eyes in anticipation of pleasure. His belt comes undone easily and his slacks soon follow as he kicks off his shoes. Once his lower half has been disrobed, she mounts him and begins unbuttoning his shirt. She cannot hide her satisfaction from him as she caresses his torso, his body pleases her and she means to claim it for her own. Taking a moment to enjoy a heated kiss, her fingers creep across his scalp, tangling in his hair as she grinds her sex against him.

It's so dark in their room, but he can see her clearly, feel her so clearly, so real, atop him, a part of him. It rattles him to his very core that this is actually happening. He wraps his arms around her and returns her slow but passionate kiss. She reaches a hand between them and guides his erection into her heat and he cannot suppress his groan of pleasure.

She feels incredible, hot, wet, and tight. She takes a minute to savor the sensation of penetration before beginning to ride and roll her hips in his lap slowly. His head falls back onto the bed and he grips her hips, guiding her as she rides him steadily. Bit by bit, she increases the pace until she is panting and moaning above him. Her cheeks flush and her pale breasts bounce gently with each rise and fall of her lithe body.

He watches her atop him, beautiful and unbound and wild. For the first time he sees her as a woman, as a person, and not as the untouchable spy that haunts him so. For the first time he feels like a simple man. Pleasure overtakes his previous uncertainty and fear, and he feels alive and human, untouchable, powerful. He growls with feral determination and secures his hands on her hips, shifting her off of her mount and beside him on the bed.

He is rougher with her now; he positions her hips on the edge of the bed and immediately begins to take her at a fast pace. He is filled with vigor, he feels accomplished, as a predator who has conquered his prey. Endorphins take over and his every sense is awash in pleasure; even the painful burning in his hamstrings and the heaving of his lungs only fuel the pressure building in his loins.

She crosses her wrists above her head in a position of vulnerability. Her entire body rocks and bounces with his every thrust and she screams and gasps and moans. He swears he hears her utter his name but his hearing and vision are dulled in lieu of heightened nerve sensitivity. He is lost in the feel of her body, able to focus on nothing else but the climax rushing upon him.

Minutes later they lie upon the bed, exhausted and panting, hypersensitive and rapidly beginning to feel the cold seeping into the poorly insulated motel room. He grabs his coat from where it fell upon the bed and rolls over, tugging it over his body in a tired attempt to block out the cold as he immediately begins to drift off.

She gives herself until her breathing has steadied and silently stands to dress herself. She watches as he lies motionless on the bed, unsure if he is sleeping or simply winding down from an intense orgasm. She doesn't want to leave him. She can't deny his charm, and to see how much he has changed since she first met him in the Raccoon City disaster is shocking. He has gone from a rookie cop blindly and boldly throwing himself at what he feels is right to a cool and calculated agent, fighting for all he holds dear with years of training and discipline at his back.

As much as it pains her to leave him, she knows she must. She has already given him too much, and probably hurt him for years to come; in doing so she has undoubtedly hurt herself, although she will never show it. She slips on her coat and gloves and exits the motel room silently, leaving him in the darkness.

He wakes hours later, naked and cold in the frigid room, with naught but a coat to shield him from the air. He is momentarily confused, shivering as he crawls slowly to pull the shoddy blanket over himself. Why is he here? It's dark, but he can make out that he is in a motel room. In seconds he remembers. As he curls up under the blankets and shudders from the cold, he recounts each and every moment.

She is gone. It is like she has never even been here. Not even a bruise or a hickey to solidify his memories. He questions whether or not she had actually been here. He remembers his night out with the guys, he remembers the bartender and walking through the snow with Ada to this room and yet… there is no tangible evidence of her existence. The only signs of his encounter are his sore body and his aching heart, which hurts more and more with each passing second. She is gone.

Again, she slips between his fingers. She leaves him. He squirms deeper into the mattress, curling into the fetal position, as if trying to disappear entirely. His old wounds have been torn open, they are fresh now. He knew this would happen. He tried to run. But in the end his lust won the better of him, and now he is paying for his foolishness. It is almost as though she has raped him, shaken and rocked him to his bones, to his very core. He tucks the blanket under his chin and tries to hold back the tears, but the hurt is too much. His tears flow freely and he turns his face into his pillow, thankful that no one is there to see him cry. Sobs wrack his shivering form and he cries like a teenager whose first love has just left him, crying out into the night and wishing desperately for someone, anyone, to hold him, soothe him, and tell him everything will be okay.

But no one is there. He doesn't know how long he cries. He is so tired… his head is pounding from his heaving sobs and his pillow is wet with tears. Eventually the tears subside. He is finally warm and his weary eyes begin to close. He has chased her for so long… both physically and in his heart. He will continue to chase her, no matter how much it hurts.

He grabs a pillow as he drifts off once more and clutches it to his chest. The only thing he can do now is fool himself into believing he is holding her as sleep casts a veil over his tired mind.

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Thanks for reading!


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